


Meet the Matrassons

by TheMatraPseudoBiblica



Category: Star Trek, Star Wars - All Media Types, The Matrassons
Genre: Imaginascape, Imagination, My characters
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-09
Updated: 2014-12-09
Packaged: 2018-02-28 19:38:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 589
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2744582
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheMatraPseudoBiblica/pseuds/TheMatraPseudoBiblica
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Come on in and meet my sons and daughters.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Meet the Matrassons

The Matra is sitting with her feet up on a stool. With a magazine in one hand and a teacup in the other, she has obviously just finished breakfast.

I spat tea as the camera closed in on my face. “What are you doing?”  
Righteous drew back. His chocolate eyes looked hurt. “Making a documentary.”  
“Can you go make it on something else?” I sighed through puffy, sleep-ridden eyes. “I’m way too tired for this.”  
Righteous made puppy dog eyes. “But mom, I would have to write a whole new script.”  
I sighed and ran a hand through my hair. “All right, but no close-ups.”

Righteous is a Spock character class. That means he inherited a pout worthy of a record-book. I swan, that’s the only reason I was willing to let him film me.  
After Righteous had filmed enough for his documentary, I had to slip downstairs to the brood.  
The brood is the most important room in the world. I’m not exaggerating. It’s here that the characters I imagine and bring into being come to life. Vats of ink mixed with the most rare, valuable and dangerous mineral in the world brew in this closed room. Every day more characters are born. I mix their ink with Irin, that chemical, and lift them from the murk every morning. A few characters work here with me, Silent-Speakers. My most trusted and most gentle characters.  
Reel, a Leonard McCoy character class, was hovering over a vat containing an SKC, Some Kind of Chiss. He turned his eyes to me. “Something’s wrong.”  
I came over and bent over the vat. “You’re right.” I picked up a clipboard and checked. “This one’s due date passed last week.” I checked the ink carefully. “The window is closing. Pull him out. Oi!” I yelled to a Ferus Olin character named Heart-Headed. “Bring a monitor, an incubator, and life-support!”  
Reel began draining the ink while I made my rounds. No other problems. Good.

I went out to the roof after that. Forerunner and Red-Line were sparring on the ridge-pole. Forerunner is a Darth Scintillation, the illegitimate child of Senator Palaptine and Thrawn’s usual mother. Yep, what you’re looking at is a Miscellaneous Thrawn. That means that I have less than ten of them. Powerful little packages.  
Red-Line is Forerunner’s Master. Fittingly, he’s a Darth Sidious Character Class. I watched them play for a while and then went downstairs.  
Chatterbox was waiting. Chatterbox, another Spock character class, is my Secretary and clock-repairman. He knows more about the inside of any clock than most people know about the outside of their own. Chatterbox signed that the President of our Lutheran church wanted to speak to me.  
I’m Lutheran and I raised my kids that way. The entire family goes to church every week at whatever branch is most convenient.  
The President of our Synod wanted to talk to me about some renovations to the Berlin Seminary.  
Berlin is my capitol city. Don’t laugh, I named it after the original city when I first decided to start organizing my imagination. My favorite expression that means “covering a wide area” is “From Berlin to Bastion.” Bastion is the farthest city from Berlin, and I’ll talk about it more in a later fic.  
For now, I’m finished. You’ve gotten a brief peek into the Matrasson country and that’s enough. Doubtless you’re curious, but I wouldn’t be too disappointed. I have been known to be brief and precise, but that only means that I can get out more fics faster.


End file.
